What If This Storm Ends
by Summoner Luna
Summary: Because that's what you do. You don't run to get away. You run to be chased. [SquallxRinoa. Running, rescue, and release.]


Rinoa's hands crackle with power.

The sound is swallowed by the pounding of waves against the rocky Dollet shore, but she feels the energy between her fingers, all the excess passion, anger, _fire_ that courses through her veins, electrified by a backstabbing "friend" who didn't stop to consider who might be in her audience.

 _Or,_ she thinks (she knows) _,_ _who did._

A rock shatters beneath her and Rinoa looks down. There is a tiny band of smoke rising from the ground, and a bead of blood forming on her ankle. She clenches and unclenches her fists, looks around for a safe outlet. There isn't one, save the sea itself.

There is _never_ one.

 _I need Squall,_ she thinks, but it only makes her angrier.

 _Stop defending her!_ she had shouted, and she has lost track of the number of times she has said it. The number of times that Xu, or Martine, or even fucking _Cid_ has stood up in public and made an announcement about advances in technology to subdue and imprison a Sorceress. The number of press releases she has read from Esthar, with quotes from her husband and father-in-law alike, on the continued security of the Sorceress' Memorial. How many posts she's seen on the Garden Network from students who smile when they see her, who remember her fondly from the war, whom she has discussed new books with in the library, in Balamb, online, who later express, honestly, crudely, _viciously,_ what they would do if they were to ever encounter a Sorceress.

 _Idiots,_ she thinks, and feels the energy pooling against her palms.

 _I need you._

But Squall is not beside her. He is back at the press event, or at the bar, or on the shore on the other side of the pier for all she knows, because he has shut her out and left her to deal with these thoughts on her own, as he seems to do so often lately.

She looks down again. The blood on her ankle is a thin line that stains the grey suede of her shoe, and she scans the ground around her, and opens her palms. All around her she watches small stones turn to smoke, and when that doesn't help, she opens both of her hands towards the sea and closes her eyes. She releases the magic, and seconds later feels the sea crash against her knees, washing the remains of the shattered stones back into the ocean along with a low scream that comes as much from the Source as it comes from her. When she opens her eyes the coastline is as deserted as it was before, and Rinoa exhales, and begins to cry.

Squall should be here. And with her blood running cooler, Rinoa pictures more clearly where he may be, what he may be thinking. She pictures Dollet and reaches for him, feeling for him in all of the places he is likely to go, and is surprised when she finds him back at the hotel, exactly where she left him. She cannot read him the way she wishes, cannot hear his thoughts, but he gives her the impression of anger and, she registers with some degree of shock, loneliness.

 _But you chose to stay,_ she thinks. Garden's portion of the presentation was over, ended with Xu's statement leaving no question as to Garden's position on a future Sorceress threat. She and Squall argued, and she left, with no interest in staying for the reception that followed. Because that's what the Leonharts did; they did not stay for receptions, not unless position dictated it or Rinoa particularly wanted to. Squall was important. Squall could get away with spending five minutes shaking hands beside the coffee station and then going home to "work." A win-win; he did not have socialize, and she did not have to listen to conversations she was better off never hearing.

So why did he stay?

The feeling of loneliness she sensed from him threatena to overtake her, and Rinoa pictures for a moment that the tables are turned. How she would feel if he fled with the expectation that she follow.

 _Because that's what you do. You don't run to get away. You run to be chased._

And hasn't that how it had been for so long? Some version of a game where he would always come for her, even before…

 _No,_ she thinks, her tears running softer, steadier. _That's not what that was._

But wasn't it?

.

He returns to their room so late Rinoa has almost lost her nerve, and wonders if she has finally pushed him too far. She fights fear, fights anger, repeats to herself what she plans to say. A rehearsal, and a reminder. And when he opens the door it is so familiar that doubt washes over her, and she wonders if she has not read more into this than she should have, and that maybe she is wrong, and maybe he just doesn't…

 _You know that's not true._

"It's not the one we had the first time we came here, but I couldn't find that one," she starts speaking before the confusion can even register on his face. "But I thought you would like the line art on the label, and it's a zinfandel, so I really hope it's good. And I know, chocolate, but—"

"—Rinoa," he cuts her off, and she waits. His eyes move from the bottle of wine, to the pack of chocolate cupcakes, to her, naked except for one of his t-shirts. Silence hangs between them, and she gives him a chance to replay their conversation, and watches him while she waits. He looks pale, exhausted, like he has spent the rest of the evening under stress. Not the stress of Garden that she sees on him so often, but the stress of _her_. Of them. He must have felt her earlier, when she sent her magic into the sea. Felt it, as Knights always do, and been forced to maintain a facade.

"I'm sorry," she says. The words feel heavy on her lips, and she tries to remember how many times she has actually apologized following a fight, when he didn't say he was sorry first. He takes a few more steps into the room, the confusion on his face replaced by something almost unreadable.

 _Almost._

"I know it's not easy for you either," she continues. "I can…go places. Do my own thing. It feels like I'm reminded every day, but you're…your entire job is a reminder. And I don't make it easier when I'm not understanding of that."

"…No," Squall finally says, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

Rinoa pulls her legs from underneath her, oddly self-conscious of her near-nudity despite the number of times they have seen each other naked, and pours two plastic cups of expensive wine.

"I don't ask you often enough if you're okay," she says. She hands him one of the cups. He takes it quickly, but not quick enough to hide the phantom burns on his palms. After-images of her meltdown that he could feel, marks left in a way that only their bond could create. She looks down, her cheeks warm.

"No," he says again. "You don't. But—"

"No. There's no excuse. You're always there for me. _Always_."

"Of course I am, Rin. I love you," he says plainly.

" _Are_ you okay?" She swirls the wine gently in her cup and takes his free hand, runs her thumb over the faint red lines.

He sighs, and mirrors her actions with the wine. "Yes."

"Really? What Xu said… What _I_ said—"

"I work with Xu," he says, and Rinoa locks her jaw, already hearing his next words, as she has heard them so many times before. _But I live with you._ She is so certain of the pattern he will follow she almost misses it when he says instead, "and I can't leave my job. I can disagree… I can disagree with her, I can even _dislike_ her, but I still have to see her every day. And I can't… I can't resent someone I can't get away from. It's hard enough without that. Xu has my back—"

"—but she doesn't have mine."

"No." He lowers his cup and leans his head back to stare at the ceiling, and Rinoa takes a breath and pulls her hand away from his and back to her lap.

"That's…"

"It's not okay," he says. "So don't pretend like you believe it is. Xu doesn't trust us. She's never liked you, and she may respect my office, but she and I both know she would shoot me in the face if she thought for a second that you or I posed a threat to Garden."

"…and when I throw temper tantrums in public spaces she sees that as a threat."

He nods. "I can't resent her. Any of them. I couldn't continue to face them if I let myself do that."

"Squall…" she clenches her fists again and thinks back to the beach, of how badly she wanted him there and how dark her thoughts tried to grow when he didn't come. She thinks of him sitting in the presentation, of the meetings leading up to it, of the countless other times Squall has sat and listened to Garden's "true" purpose glorified while unable to speak out in her defense. And she thinks of him coming home from that to her. Not to her understanding, but to her anger.

Rinoa holds her cup towards him and says again, "I'm sorry."

He taps his cup lightly against hers and they taste the wine. It's good. Better, she thinks, than the one they remembered from their first trip to Dollet. From a time when he chased her because he thought he would honestly lose her.

"You always catch me," she says. "But I always run again anyway. But who… Who chases you?"

He takes another sip of wine and smiles, and rests his hand against her thigh, just below where the edge of his shirt falls against her skin. "I don't run," he says.

"Maybe you should sometimes."

"Not when I get to come home to this." He sets his cup down on the end table and leans in to kiss her, but Rinoa reaches for his hand again, frowning at the marks she has left on him. They will have faded by morning, but there will be another time she affects him in this way, and another time after that.

"I am sorry," she says. "I guess I'm just used to being the one who needs help. I forget that sometimes, so do you."

"Sometimes."

"But I love you, too."

"I never doubted that. But when I need something, I'm not at risk for..."

"Death and destruction?"

He raises a hand and looks at his palm. "Amongst other natural disasters."

"You're not. But it doesn't mean it isn't hard for you too. And I should be more understanding. Just because your bad moods aren't potentially world-ending, doesn't mean you have to handle them in silence."

She guides his hand back to her thigh, and sets her cup on the end table beside his.

 _Release_ , she thinks. No stones or surges that leave marks on both their hands, but together, where they can only overwhelm each other.

* * *

 _For those I'm not friends with on social media, baby finally arrived on April 15th! It has taken a lot longer to get back into writing this time than with our first, but this one sleeps a lot better at night than she did... Which is awesome, but does mean *I* am sleeping, and the toddler is awake during the day and makes writing as impossible as she has since she got old enough to move around. (Plus she has recently discovered how to ask "why." To *everything.* All. Day. Long. Which is more draining than any other parenting experience we've had so far.)_

 _I feel like this is kind of a weak re-entry into fic. I had the idea a couple weeks ago and hoped to post it last Sunday for my husband's birthday but that clearly did not happen. I'm not overall happy with it, especially the way it ends, but the only way I'm ever going to start writing regularly again is by *writing,* and the feedback-driven nature of fandom is highly motivational to stop making excuses and just find time to write. So let me know how badly having a second baby has affected my brain, and I'll work on fixing that for the next update! (I don't know when I'll have a new chapter for Dissolve, however, but I did at least start working on it other day!)_


End file.
